


Lab Rats

by CleverFangirl



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverFangirl/pseuds/CleverFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three months since Shaw disappeared.  Root never stopped looking.<br/>It's been three months since she was taken.  But Shaw can handle the tortures.<br/>It's been three months since these two caught Samaritan's attention.  And now it's curious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Root’s heels clicked loudly on the cold concrete of the sidewalk.  Her breath fogged up in front of her as she walked quickly towards her destination.  Despite her best efforts, anticipation was growing in her chest.  She fought it, trying to prevent the painful cycle she’d been suffering through for months now; finding a lead, following it as her hopes grew, only to have them crushed as she encountered yet another dead end.  No Samaritan, no compound, and no Shaw.

But she couldn’t stop the little voice in her head that whispered that maybe, maybe, this time could be different.  

Not that that was the only voice to be heard in her head.  

_\--Analog Interface entering shadow area.  Recommend change of course.--_

Root clenched her jaw and continued walking.  

_\--Area known to support low numbers of Decima agents.  Odds of danger to Analog Interface high.--_

Her fists were clenched so tight that her knuckles were white, but Root still couldn’t keep herself from snapping back, “Yes that would be the point.” She pauses for half a second.  “Unless you’d like to finally break your silence and tell me what I want to know?”  She asks sweetly as she looks over her shoulder at a security camera.  

Silence.

Her smile falls and she shrugs, “I thought so.  Well if you won’t share, I’ll find someone who will.”  And with that, she picked up her pace towards the old parking garage that was deep in the shadow area.  

She’d heard word that there was a drop planned for this location tonight for some Decima agents.  Root wanted very badly to talk to these people.  She felt the comforting press of her favorite two pistols holstered in the back of her waistband and smiled.  She wanted to talk to them very much.  

She drew these two guns and held them ready as she entered the building.  The drop was supposed to take place on the third level, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be lookouts stationed all around.  Her watchful eye scanned every corner and shadow as she did her best to ignore the technological god in her ear that wouldn’t shut up.

\--Prolonged time spent in shadow areas not recommended.  Acquire reinforcements.--

Root cleared the first floor and headed up the staircase.  

_\--Contacting John Reese--_

“What?!” Root squealed before catching herself and looking around quickly for anyone who might have heard her.  There was no one, and Root wasn’t sure whether that knowledge should relieve or tighten the knot of anxiety settling in her stomach.  Certainly it was good that she was progressing unnoticed, but no agents on guard might mean no drop, which would mean no leads...

“Root?”  The sound of Reese’s voice in her earpiece made Root jump, just a little.  

She cursed silently.  She’d been so focused on making sure she stayed undetected that she hadn’t cancelled the call to him in time.  She tried to play it off, speaking in her normal playful tone, “Hey John.  It’s been a while.”

Reese’s dubious tone told her that he didn’t fall for the casual call act for a minute.  “Yes it has.  Last I heard you were hanging people out of windows in Hong Kong.”

That had been a month ago.  Root had followed a lead about a Samaritan-run operation there.  A similar setup to that of Maple, but instead of manipulating a small town, Samaritan had been controlling a few blocks of the busy Asian city.  At least, until Root (finding no trace of Shaw anywhere) destroyed the weapons manufacturing factory that had been the heart of the operation.  

“Oh you know how it can be, John,” Root says airily, continuing her way up the stairs.  “Some people just don’t like to share.”

Lambert had been in the factory.  The people she’d hung out of windows had been very eager to tell her when and where he could be found there.  

There’s a half second’s hesitation, and Root can practically hear him fighting down hope, “Did they share anything useful?”

She bit her lip and forced herself to keep her tone playfully cheerful, “Nothing worth contacting you boys for.”

Lambert hadn’t known where Shaw was being kept.  He claimed that last time he’d been in the States, he’d known they had plans to move her, but not the intended destination.  Root put him through enough pain to know that he’d been telling the truth.

She almost felt bad that he hadn’t been able to exit the building before the bombs went off.

Almost.  

“Speaking of contacting us,” John said slowly, “Do you need any-?”

“No,” She cut across him, sharp and firm.  “I’m back in town, John.  But not for you, not for Harold, and not for Her.”

“Then why did you call?”

“Must have been a wrong number,” And with that, she hung up.  

She wished there was somewhere she could glare at to convey her annoyance to The Machine.  Certainly, She’d grown a bit sharp with Root as the weeks had dragged into months and still Root’s search for Shaw had remained fruitless.  But She’d always been there to help Root when she found herself in a tight situation, offering countermeasure strategies, or escape routes.  

Root knew that She wasn’t doing it for Shaw.

She was doing it for Herself.

Have to protect the Interface, she thought bitterly to herself.  

“You do that again, and I’m ripping this thing out of my neck,” She snarled under her breath.  

That had been part of their arrangement.  The Machine had quickly realized that Root would not give up her search for Shaw, but She would not tell Root what She knew, no matter how Root pleaded.  And She would not assist Root any further in the investigation.  But She would stay as a fallback as long as Root remained her Analog Interface.  

Root arrived at the door to the third floor and listened.  She didn’t hear anything, but that did not necessarily mean nothing was there.  

She readjusted her grip on her guns and opened the door.  

The entire level was empty save for one car at the far end.  Root squinted in the dim lighting, and thought she could see someone leaning up against it.  Her eyes searched the entirety of the floor, and saw no one and nothing else.  Slowly, cautiously, she walked towards the car, both guns aimed at whoever it was by the car.  

The person made no attempt to move, and no action that indicated an awareness of Root’s approach.  When she’s close enough to judge that they’re in shooting range, she calls out, “Put your hands where I can see them.”

The person does as they’re told, raising their hands slowly into the air.  At the same time, a respectful and even voice welcomes her, “A pleasure to see you again as well, Miss Groves.”

_\--Voice recognition identifies John Greer.--_

Chimes in the Machine, still listening through Her Interface.  Not that Root needed that tidbit of information.  She would never forget this man’s voice.  She  clenched her jaw, “My name is Root.”

The old man shrugged as well as one can with their hands over their head, “I’m afraid I’ve always been one to call people by their proper names.”

_\--Highly recommend nearest escape route.--_

Root knew that the Machine was right.  If Greer was here, waiting for her, something must be wrong.  But she also knew that this might be her best chance to find out what she desperately needed to know.  The last time she’d held Greer at gunpoint, they had ended in a draw.  And Root wasn’t as forgiving now as she’d been then.  

“What is this?” She demanded, trying hard not to let her anger or confusion show.  “What are you doing here?”

Greer smiled calmly, “Have no fear, I only wish to talk.  I leaked you the information about an exchange at this location because I knew you would show up.”

“Your methods of invitation are quite extravagant,” Root said with a sweet smile.  She tightened her grip on her weapons, “Now tell me where Sameen is, or I’ll blow both your kneecaps off.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Greer replied.  His eyes crinkled as he smiled.  “Why don’t I take you to her?”

Root had just enough time to hear footsteps behind her before a sharp needle stabbed into her neck, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.  


	2. Chapter 2

Shaw often found herself wondering why they hadn’t killed her yet.  It wasn’t that she wanted to die or anything (she was pretty fond of life despite the unpleasant turn hers had taken in the past year).  But logically, she couldn’t understand why Samaritan was keeping her around.  

When she’d first woken up in a hospital gown to Greer sitting there waiting for her, she’d assumed that they intended to beat her friends’ locations out of her.  The thought hadn’t bothered her much.  She had no intention of ever giving up the others, and she could handle whatever pain they’d throw at her.  

However it soon became clear (as the only people to visit her were doctors, and the only questions asked of her focused on how she was faring) that they were waiting for her to heal from her wounds before subjecting her to whatever it was they had plans for.  After about three weeks of recovery, Shaw noticed that the tests the doctors were performing weren’t standard for a gunshot victim.  She quickly recognized that they were prepping her for some kind of surgery.  

That knowledge had been a source of mild anxiety until she’d overheard a conversation between the doctor in charge and Greer, taking place outside her recovery room door while she pretended to be asleep (she often pretended to be asleep).  She hadn’t heard the whole conversation, but phrases like, “Incompatible,” “Subject death likely,” and “Procedure would fail” definitely caught her ear.  

She’d had to work hard not to smirk a little bit.  It appeared as though something in her biology didn’t fit into whatever plans they’d had for her.  

Greer had left in an angry huff to, Shaw assumed, obtain new orders from Samaritan.  

The next day, Shaw had been transferred to a different section of the compound she was being held in.  From then on, Shaw lived in a cramped cell with barely enough room for a bed, and the only time she was let out was when Martine arrived every one to three days and brought her to an interrogation room for their “questioning” sessions.  

It was these sessions that made Shaw wonder why she was still alive.  Because although Martine did ask questions as she subjected Shaw to a wide range of tortures and punishments, it was hardly a real interrogation.

For one thing, she asked the same questions over and over again, with very little emotion in her words.  

“Where is Harold Finch?”

“Where is the Machine?”

“What are they planning?”

“How do they know which people to save?”

“How does the Machine contact you?”

“ _Where is Samantha Groves?_ ”  

For all other questions, Shaw maintained her silence.  She never responded, no matter how much pain she was in.  But when she asked about Root, Shaw would always reply, in as even a tone as she could manage, “I don’t know any Samantha Groves.”  She knew how much Root hated being called by her birth name, and since Root wasn’t there to correct them, Shaw took it upon herself to do so.  

At this response, Martine would invariably stop asking questions and throw in one last kick, punch, twist, shock, or cut, before handing Shaw back to the guards and storming off.  

Shaw spent a lot of time wondering the same questions to herself, as time slowly passed in her cell.  

She hoped that her friends would have the good sense to assume her dead and continue on with their mission, and not risk themselves on some half-baked plan that might get her back, or get them all killed, leaving the world vulnerable to Samaritan.  They had to know that she wouldn’t want them to risk that just for her.  Not when she’d given herself up to prevent that exact scenario.  

Not that she’d planned on being alive for very long after she’d locked the elevator door.  If she’d known there’d even been the slightest chance she’d survive the stock exchange, she probably wouldn’t have found the... _whatever_ it was that had prompted her to kiss Root in the way she had.  

She noticed that her mind drifted back to that moment frequently.  Shaw didn’t do emotions well (or much at all, really) but she couldn’t ignore the fact that whenever she remembered Root’s screams, or seeing Root’s face as she pressed uselessly against the elevator grate, an uncomfortable feeling twisted her stomach.  She didn’t like it, but she knew that if she’d done anything differently, if her actions had resulted in Root’s dead body, she would have liked that a lot less.  

So yes, she was content with the decision she’d made.  But that didn’t stop her mind from wandering now and then.  

She found herself wondering what might have happened if they had all somehow made it out of the stock exchange together after that moment.  Would it have changed the way she and Root interacted?  She didn’t know if it was possible for Root to be even more flirtatious, but would there be more weight to her words now that Shaw had proven that she too knew there was something between them?

She knew that they made a good team and everything, but relationships just weren’t her thing.  Maybe Root wouldn’t have cared, though.  Sure she’d teased, enjoying making Shaw slightly uncomfortable.  But she’d never expected anything back.  She’d never tried to force Shaw to be anything but herself.  Maybe they could have worked something out, and maybe someday...

The door to her cell was whipped open and Martine barged in, looking furious and ready to kill.  Shaw was shocked out of her thoughts but before she could make any move she was slammed against the wall, Martine’s fist smashing across her face.  

Shaw clenched her teeth and stretched her jaw as well as she could while Martine’s forearm kept her pinned to the wall (it didn’t feel like anything was broken, but that sure as hell was going to bruise).  She raised her eyebrows, “Well this is at least a change of pace.”

Martine was seething.  “We’re going to find her, you know,” She snarled.  

Shaw kept her face impassive, “Who?”

“Your overprotective _girlfriend_ ,” Martine spat, pressing her arm harder into Shaw’s throat.

Despite the fact that it was getting difficult to breathe, Shaw felt a smirk tug on her lips.  Of course Root would still be causing trouble.  And if this was how Martine, the stone cold bitch, was reacting, Shaw could only guess that the hacker had done something very troublesome indeed.  

Martine saw her smile and with her free hand dug into the still healing wound in Shaw’s side, sending spasms of pain through her.  “She should know that whatever she does to interfere with us will only make things worse for you.”  

Shaw’s knees were trembling from the pain, but she wasn’t about to show weakness after all this time.  “I guess she knows I can take it,” She coughed out.

This time it was the butt of  Martine’s gun that slammed into her head, knocking her into the wall and rendering her unconscious.  Martine glared as Shaw’s unconscious form, “We’ll see.”  

That had been a month ago.  Since then, Martine had stuck to only one method of inducing pain, the one she decided Shaw could withstand the longest before blacking out; electroshock.  

Martine still asked the questions, as she strapped Shaw down and ran varying amounts of electric current through her body, but Shaw knew this wasn’t about her friends anymore.  Whatever Root had done had been bad (In the halls between her cell and the torture rooms, Shaw heard whispers of something in Hong Kong, and Lambert, but she knew no more details than that), and Martine had decided that since she couldn’t punish Root for whatever it was, she’d take out her anger on Shaw.

If she’d picked any other method of torture, she might have succeeded.  As it was, every time Shaw felt the jolt of electricity arcing through her spine, she was reminded of Root.  This pain was meant for Root, but she wasn’t here to take it.  

But Shaw was still a protector.  

And as long as there was breath in her body, she’d protect Root from this pain, gladly.  


	3. Chapter 3

Root’s head pounded with the (unfortunately) familiar headache that accompanied waking from sedative injections.  She clenched her jaw and forced herself to take deep, calming breaths before she opened her eyes to assess what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into this time.  

The room she was in was lit with bright fluorescent light.  It was small, with white walls and a tiled floor.  The only furniture besides the chair she was sitting in was a small metal table, upon which an open laptop sat with its screen dark.  There was a metal door in the wall across from her, with a window showing an empty hallway on the other side.  On the ceiling to her left a camera was mounted in the corner.  The red light shining down at her told Root that someone was watching.  

But then again, someone was always watching.

Root herself was zip-tied to the chair (and from the stiffness in her neck and shoulders, she’d been positioned like this for a few hours at least).  She tested her restraints for a few seconds before giving it up.  These people knew her too well to let her escape so easily.  

These people knew her so well that they’d probably be surprised they caught her.  Root was certainly furious with herself for allowing Greer to get the drop on her.  She’d been careful, her guard had been up, she’d scouted the floor and she still knew there’d been no one.  She couldn’t understand how anyone had snuck up behind her.  It shouldn’t have been possible.  

But the fact remained that she had been bested (at least temporarily), and now half of the Machine’s core team was in enemy hands.  

Root could already feel her pulse quickening as she sat there (she couldn’t help but remember that the last time she’d been restrained like this, she’d lost the use of one of her ears), and again she forced herself to breathe deeply and steadily.  Panicking wouldn’t help anyone.  She needed to be ready to receive orders for the escape plan.

Speaking of orders, the Machine was being very quiet for some reason.  Since she’d gotten her implant, whenever Root fell unconscious, she would wake to regular messages from the Machine, checking her awareness and updating her on enemy movements and potential methods of action.  But now there was nothing.  

Perhaps She was mad at Root.  

Root cleared her throat and noticed how dry her mouth was.  “Any helpful tips?” She asked quietly.  She was positive that the camera wasn’t the only surveillance equipment in this room, and she didn’t want to let her observers know anything more about her communications situation than they already did.  

But there was nothing.  No response from the machine.  No small whisper of guidance.  No advice.  No location.  No calling for reinforcements.  Just...

Silence.

She felt a guilty (and slightly worried) smile creep up her lips as she whispered, “Look, I’m sorry.  I know I was reckless.  But there’s no need to be rude-”

Her words were cut off as the computer on the table came to life suddenly.  White words began to appear on the black screen.

**She can’t hear you.**

Root felt her stomach clench.  “What did you do?”  A wide range of scenarios were racing through her head, all possible methods of how her enemies could cease her communication with the Machine.  Surprisingly, she hadn’t noticed any kind of pain in her neck that would have indicated having her implant removed.  But maybe they’d used an anesthetic that just hadn’t worn off yet...

Her worries were proven to be misplaced as the previous message faded to black, only to be replaced with new words.

**Nothing.  To you.**

So they hadn’t cut her open, Root thought, surprised at the relief that rushed through her.  “Then what-” Root stopped as her eyes fell on the wires leading from the laptop to outputs in the wall and it clicked.  “This building blocks wireless signals, doesn’t it?”

**Yes.**

“So you can see and hear me, because your entire system is wired,” She said more than asked.  It was an interesting setup, but apparently an effective one.  “But she can’t get into your closed system.  And any transmissions she tries to send me would be blocked by some material in the walls?”

**Yes.**

Root nodded, processing this information and trying to quell her panic.  At least they hadn’t permanently cut her off from the Machine.  In theory, Root would be able to contact Her just as soon as she got out of this building.

Which meant that it was unlikely she’d ever leave this building.    

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought.  True, she had been in situations similar to this before she met the Machine.  But there was one large difference this time that was placing her at a great disadvantage.  

“You’re actually Samaritan, aren’t you?”

**Yes.**

And there it was.  That was the problem.  That was how she knew it would be impossible for her to escape.  She’d been in tough situations before, especially in her life of crime.  But never before had she faced Samaritan alone.  The only way she stood a chance against an artificial superintelligence was with one of her own on her side.  But now she was cut off from the Machine, totally alone, and Samaritan itself was talking directly to her.  

Why was it talking directly to her?

“What happened to _your_ interface?”  Root tried to keep her tone even to hide her concern for the boy.  Honestly, she couldn’t care less what happened to most of the people who worked for Samaritan (as she’d clearly shown these past months with how casually she’d discharged her weapons while searching for Shaw), but she knew that the child the machine had recruited couldn’t have had much of a chance of resisting.  The Machine certainly had done an effective job teaching Root to value human life.  She was worried that maybe Samaritan had decided the kid wasn’t as great an interface as someone else could be.

Or at least she _was_ worried, until she read the answer.  

**He is currently at the White House.  Acting as my representative to the President.  We have been talking for some time now.**

Great.  Samaritan was having regular conversations with the leader of the country.  Root tried to push down the guilt tightening around her lungs.  She’d carefully avoided thoughts of the evil AI’s plans and how they might have been progressing while she searched for Shaw.  Certainly, she’d done some damage in her crusade, but she knew that other plans had to have been continuing.  Plans that maybe, if she’d been working _with_ the Machine, they probably would have halted.  And Samaritan wouldn’t be talking to the President, and Root wouldn’t be held captive by the enemy.  

The worst part was that, though she did feel slightly guilty, Root had no remorse for her actions.  She’d needed to find Shaw, she still needed to find Shaw.  Nothing else seemed important compared to that need.  

And look where that got her.  

“So,” She said to the computer, trying to keep her voice from shaking.  “You’ve got me here, separated from Her.  Why haven’t you killed me yet?  What do you want from me?”

**...**

**...**

**...**

**Research.**

“Research?”  Root repeated, her mind racing.  She was aware that Samaritan had been conducting a lot of research since being activated.  It was learning as much as it could about humanity with _experiments_ like Maple and Hong Kong and who knew how many other small towns and city blocks throughout the world.  But those had all been large scale projects, with clear purposes (Maple had been manufacturing neural implants, while the Hong Kong factory had been making some sort of specialized gun).  What could Samaritan hope to learn from just one human?  “What kind of research?”  

No words appeared on the screen.  Instead the black rectangle pulled back into a corner, as the rest of the screen was replaced with footage from what appeared to be a live-streaming camera showing a room very much like the one Root was in.  Except there were two people in this room.  A blonde and a brunnette.  Root recognized Martine instantly but barely spared her a thought as her entire being focused on the short woman strapped to a chair with wires running from her arms and chest.  

Root couldn’t have kept track of all the emotions that rushed through her if she’d wanted to as she recognized that stubborn face she’d been searching for for so long.  She simultaneously wanted to laugh and cry as she breathed out in astonishment the name that had pounded in the back of her mind like a mantra for months, “Shaw.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was a matter of pride to Shaw that she still fought down her screams.  Useless pride, she knew, and stupid.  The more she resisted showing how much pain she was in, the more volts Martine pumped through her body.  But that didn’t stop her from biting down hard on the mouth guard wedged between her teeth (“Can’t have you breaking a tooth and dying of infection on us now,” Martine had said coldly the first time she’d prepped Shaw for this method of interrogation) and trying to stop herself from showing how much agony she was in.

She never won, of course.  Martine would never settle for allowing Shaw even the smallest of victories in this game they played.  She always started slow, though.  It was like she was amused to see how long Shaw would go on fighting.  

Of course that only motivated Shaw to fight more, but even she couldn’t fight her body’s natural instincts for forever.  It was inevitable that eventually her resolve would be shattered by the blinding pain that overtook her entire body, as every hair on her body stood on end and her back arced up as much as her restraints would allow and low, animalistic shouts of pain tore at her throat.  In their past few weeks together, Martine had been pleased to find the sweet spot of voltage levels that generated enough pain to eventually draw screams from Shaw, but not enough pain to have her black out from it.  

Martine held her at that level for as long as she could without losing Shaw completely.  When she finally shopped the flow of electricity, Shaw’s breathing was haggard and shaky.  Her skin was coated in a layer of sweat and every part of her felt light and tingly but also ached terribly.  The room was spinning around her, and her empty stomach threatened to heave up nothing, but Shaw fought it down.  These were all side effects she was used to.  

What she wasn’t used to was Martine turning away from her, her hand on her ear like she was trying to hear more clearly through an earpiece.  

“Really?” She said to whoever was on the other end.  Shaw wondered if it was one of her partners in crime, or Samaritan itself.  Either way, it was the first time they’d been interrupted in the middle of their sessions.  And based on the cold smile that curled on Martine’s lips as she turned back to face her, Shaw wasn’t going to like what news this interruption had brought.  

Martine bent over so her eyes were level with Shaw’s and removed the mouthguard from between her teeth, “I’ve just received an interesting call, Shaw.”

“Yeah?” Shaw grunted, still breathing heavily and trying to regain her composure.  “Was it the asylum asking for their torture back?”

Martine’s arm twitched with the intention of striking Shaw across the face, but something held her back.  Shaw stared unflinchingly back at her, eyebrow arched.  

Martine took a deep breath and let her smile grow even wider, though her eyes still remained ice cold.  “There’s some information that I know, but I wasn’t allowed to tell you yet.  They were worried it might distract you from our fun,” she added with fake sympathy.  “But now I’ve been authorized to let the cat out of the bag and share the good news.

“At least, it’s good news for me, but perhaps not for you.  You see, you’re no longer our MVP.  Most valuable prisoner,” She  clarified as Shaw clearly didn’t understand.

“Yeah?”  Shaw asked, keeping her voice even and disinterested.  “What’d you do?  Kidnap the President?”

Martine scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Of course not.  That plan won’t be initiated for another month at least.  No,” she said slowly with that Cheshire grin.  “This is someone I’d wager you’d really like to see right about now.  Not that we’ll let you see her, of course, but still...”  She let her words trail off as her glinting eyes took in Shaw’s reaction as she deciphered just who this “her” was.  

To her disappointment, Shaw continued to look unimpressed and almost... bored.  

“What, Root?”  She asked, scoffing.  “Please, as if she’d be sloppy enough to let you idiots anywhere near her.”

“Well then how would you explain this?” Martine asked, pulling a handgun from the back of her waistband.  

Shaw remained impassive, not quite understanding or caring.  So, Martine now had a gun in their torture room, something that Shaw had always noticed she obviously lacked during their previous sessions.  She’d always assumed it was one of Greer’s stipulations for letting Martine have this time with Shaw, to make sure that whenever Shaw said something that caused Martine to snap, there wouldn’t be any danger of lethal retaliation.  Maybe her being armed now was supposed to show Shaw that she really was expendable now.  Not that she hadn’t known that already.  

But wait...

Shaw recognized that gun.  It was her gun, her Nano.  The only one of her personal arsenal that she hadn’t taken to the stock exchange.  She’d opted to take her larger and more lethal guns with her for that mission, leaving the Nano behind, and she hadn’t regretted that decision.  But Shaw knew Decima hadn’t found the subway yet.  And that meant that the only person who had access to her gun who would have taken it out into the field was...

Root.  

Shaw felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.  

It wasn’t possible.  They couldn’t have.  Maybe Root had dropped the gun while encountering Decima agents, or they’d made a copy of her gun just to psych her out.  There had to be something, anything, some logical explanation for why they had her gun because Root couldn’t possibly have been captured.  

But even as a part of her mind was racing with these thoughts, another part, the logical part of her mind, had already reached the conclusion that Martine was telling the truth.  She knew that if Root was going through all the trouble to tote Shaw’s gun around with her, she’d never leave it in a place where it could be picked up and lost forever.  And she knew that as sick as Martine may be, she wouldn’t go to the trouble of having a copy of a gun made just to convince her Root had been captured.  If they’d been faking it, there would have been easier ways of doing so.  

“I knew you’d recognize her gun,” Martine sneered as she watched Shaw come to the realization that she was actually telling the truth.  She smiled and tossed the gun between her hands.  “Honestly, I was just as surprised as you are.  I mean,” she casually pointed the gun at Shaw and mimicked firing.  “I knew we’d catch up with her eventually.  She’s caused too much trouble.  But if you knew how easy it was.  Greer said she probably would have walked into the compound willingly, she was so focused on finding out where you were.  Instead, of course, he went with his trap, just to make sure she’d come.  Apparently, she didn’t think to look up into the rafters to see if anyone was waiting with a needle and black bag.”  That sick smile was back, and Martine was clearly enjoying analyzing Root’s mistakes.  

In all fairness, Shaw wondered how many times she looked up when entering a structure, even on a recon mission.  But she was positive that she, at least, would have noticed someone sneaking up on her with a needle.  

True, Root herself had pulled that exact same move on Shaw at one point but that had been different.  As much as she shuddered to admit it, Shaw trusted Root.  She really hadn’t expected that trick, and she knew if Root ever tried it again, the result would not be the same.  But this was different.  Root had been in a hostile environment, Shaw assumed, and if that were the case, she should have been on high alert.  

If Root had let someone sneak up on her, she’d either wanted to get caught, or these past few months had been harder on her than Shaw had thought.  She was surprised to feel a sharp stab of something like concern for the other woman shoot through her suddenly.  Had Root really spent all this time looking for her?

“And now she’s here,” Martine continued glowingly.  “In the same room you were in when you woke up.  Poetic isn’t it?  Just think, if we’d kept you in that wing, maybe you would have seen her by now.”

Shaw clenched her teeth, both in response to the anger that was pulsing through her at Martine’s words, and because of the painful way her stomach lurched at the thought of seeing Root again.  

“Not that you will see her,” Martine commented as she replaced Shaw’s gun behind her waistband and walked back to the controls.  “That’s my good news.  Now that she’s here, I’ve just been given license to have a lot more fun with you so pretty soon you won’t be seeing anything at all.”

She cranked up the controls and this time, Shaw couldn’t even try to fight the screams.  


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re alive,” Root breathed, her eyes drinking in every inch of Shaw shown on the screen.  She could hear the desperation and relief obvious in those two words, but she didn’t care.  She finally had her answer.  She’d found her cat.

Though she was more or less immobilized, Root could still feel each of her limb begin to  shake.  She looked down and saw her fingers trembling and quickly forced her hands into fists.  She was surprised her breathing was so even.  Root had been captured before in her life.  She’d been tortured.  She’d seen more people than she could count being subjected to torture themselves.  Hell, before the Machine (and even a few times after they’d been introduced) she’d been responsible for the unendurable agony of several people.  But this, this was different.  This wasn’t any kind of pain.

This was making her _feel_.  

Root had very pointedly been ignoring her feelings as much as she could these last months.  At first she’d been drowning in them, waking every day to the hollow ache of Shaw’s absence and the infuriating silence of the Machine.  Everything had been so quiet but each day Root had wanted nothing more than to scream.  And it had scared her, how much she felt.  It terrified her, the way she could physically feel Shaw’s absence every waking moment.  How every night was plagued with nightmares of elevators and gunshots.  She’d wake, drenched in sweat and shaking, cursing the two gods whose conflict had cost her the one person she hadn’t been prepared to lose, furious at herself for her lack of progress in her search.  

For the first time since she’d lost Hanna, Root had felt helpless.  

She’d hated it, and she’d known that if she let it continue, she’d lose control completely.  

So she’d taken a page out of her favorite sociopath’s book, and done her best to turn down the volume on her emotions.  Any time she’d felt her fear, her doubt, her... _whatever_ it was that she felt so forcefully for Shaw, creeping over her, she’d pushed it away and focused on the mission.  She’d forced down everything but her determination and her anger.  Anything else was too dangerous, too painful.  

Now here she was, looking at Shaw, so close to her but still impossibly far away, and she could feel all of those emotions were flooding back.  And despite everything that was so wrong with the situation, Root couldn’t deny the rush of happiness that flooded through her at the sight of Shaw _alive_.  

Alive though she might be, Shaw didn’t look good.  Her cheeks were hollowed out, and her hair was a disheveled mess.  There were new scars on her arms and chest that Root knew had not marked her skin before.  Not to mention the fact that she was strapped to a chair with several wires hooked up to her.  Or that Martine was currently fiddling with the controls to those wires.  Root didn’t even want to imagine the pain and punishment they’d so obviously put Shaw through these past months.   

“Oh Sameen,” She breathed as her eyes landed on those new scars again.  “What have they done to you?”

She wasn’t expecting an answer, but in the black square still occupying the corner of the screen, Samaritan provided one.  

**Cutting.  Electroshock.  Physical beatings.  Branding.  Starvation.**

**Martine has subjected her to nearly all forms of physical torture.**

Root clenched her jaw, fighting down the fury that she was sure that showing in her eyes.  Whatever game this AI was playing (and she was sure there was a method to this apparent madness) the goal was obviously to use Shaw’s pain to get under Root’s skin.  She didn’t want to let the camera see how well this plan was working.  

She took a deep breath, shaking her hair and forcing a smirk to her lips.  “She still looks better than Martine,” she said as airily as she could, her eyes not leaving the screen.

Martine was talking to Shaw, and based on the smile on her face, she was enjoying their conversation.  Shaw’s face was more or less impassive as she responded.  There was no audio coming from the computer, so Root had no idea what they were discussing.  Martine took out a gun, still grinning, and Root felt her stomach lurch, wondering if Samaritan was really sick enough to keep Shaw alive for so long only to force Root to watch her execution.  Then she recognized the gun.  It was Shaw’s Nano, the weapon she’d kept on her person at all times since finding it in the subway station.  It hadn’t been much, but it had felt like the closest thing she could get to having Shaw with her.  

She knew Shaw would recognize her own weapon, and she’d easily conclude who would have taken it from where she’d left it.  Root the exact moment Shaw realized what the gun’s presence in Martine’s hands meant.  

“She’s telling Shaw about me,” Root said, curiously.  Samaritan didn’t respond and she wondered why the AI would care if Shaw knew about Root’s presence.  She could see the sheer glee in Martine’s face as she continued talking, no doubt taunting Shaw, but Root barely noticed.  She was completely focused on Shaw, taking in the way her entire body had gone rigid a few moments after she’d seen the gun, and how her jaw remained stubbornly clenched tightly.  Even through the screen, Root could see something dangerous flashing in those brown eyes she never tired of looking at.  

She felt a genuine smile creep up her lips at the sight of her Shaw, still angry and defiant, and the knowledge that months of pain and torture had failed to break her spirit.  

Despite the restraints that kept Shaw secured to her seat, as Martine turned back to the controls of the system (still talking with that smug smirk), Root wondered if the blonde knew what a dangerous game she was playing.  

As Martine fiddled turned a dial, the black screen in the corner flashed a new message.  

** Martine has been learning Shaw’s tolerance for a few weeks.   **

Shaw’s entire body went rigid as the electricity shot through her.  

** She knows the exact range of voltages that will cause pain but nothing more. **

Martine slowly turned the dial up.

** She’s stayed within that range, not wanting to risk losing Shaw. **

Shaw’s wrists were pulling at her restraints so hard Root could see blood welling up on her skin.

**But now she has permission to exceed those limits.**

_Because if Shaw dies, I become the new torture toy,_ Root thought to herself, terror shooting through her like a knife.  The moment she processed the thought, Samaritan activated the microphone in Shaw’s cell, and Root’s entire existence is overtaken by the sound of Shaw’s screams.  

** Her heart rate is 163 bpm. **

That was high.  Too high.

Martine turned the dial further.

**181**

Root’s own heart was racing.  Shaw’s heart couldn’t take that kind of strain for a long time.

**192**

She was tugging at her restraints, all thought of hiding her reaction long gone.  She had to do something.  If they kept this up they would kill Shaw.  

Martine turned the dial again.

**209**

Shaw’s screams were echoing off the walls, bombarding her with a pain she couldn’t trace but she knew would kill her anyway.  Root couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, she could barely hear her own words as she shouted them, “STOP!  STOP!  PLEASE STOP!”

The response was immediately, a simple question.  

**Why?**

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, “Hurt me instead.”  It was a useless bargain, she knew.  She was in no position to be making any kind of deal, she had absolutely no leverage.  These people could kill both her and Shaw, and there was nothing she could do about it.  But she didn’t care.  The only thing that mattered was that Shaw was hurting, Shaw was _dying_ , and Root would do anything to take that pain away from her, even shouldering herself.  So she did something she’d only done once before, she plead to an all-seeing computer for the Shaw’s life.  She looked right at the camera, “Please hurt me instead.”

It took her a moment to register the silence.  But the moment she did, her eyes snapped back to the screen, fearing the worst.  Martine was walking away from the control panel, all the dials reset to zero.  Shaw’s eyes were closed, her limbs limp.  Root barely had time to register the rise and fall of Shaw’s chest and acknowledge the fact that somehow the woman was still alive, before the door to her cell opened and a massive man she didn’t recognize walked in, closing the door behind him.  She heard the lock click.  

She glanced back to the computer screen just in time to catch two words fading from Samaritan’s terminal.  

** Very well. **

Root looked up just as the massive fist made contact with her face.  


	6. Chapter 6

Shaw was screaming, but her scream was motivated by anger almost more than pain.  Shaw knew exactly what was happening, and she was furious.  Anger had always been the easiest emotion for her to access, and now she was clinging to it like a lifeline.  It _was_ a lifeline, because as long as Shaw was angry, she’d fight to stay alive.  

Martine was trying to kill her, of that Shaw had no doubt.  Each time the blonde woman upped the voltage shooting through Shaw’s body she affirmed this fact.  Martine had told her that Samaritan had Root now, and anyone with an ounce of logic would know that The Machine’s Analogue Interface was far more valuable to Samaritan than Shaw, a lowly grunt, was.  With Root captured, Shaw was now expendable.  Martine would wring out the last bit of entertainment she could get from Shaw, and as soon as Shaw was dead, she’d turn all her attention to Root.  

As soon as Shaw gave up, gave in to the death that she’d always been indifferent towards, Root would be sitting in this chair.  This pain would be hers.  

And _that_ was why Shaw was so angry.  

So Shaw dug in with her trademark stubbornness.  She screamed louder than she should, trying to drown out the dangerously fast rate of her heart thudding away in her ears.  She dug her wrists into the leather straps binding her to her seat, hoping that a different kind of pain might help ground her.  She forced her eyes shut and thought of Root.  Root, and how each second she stayed alive in this chair was another second Root wouldn’t have to suffer through the same treatment.  

She knew she was only delaying the inevitable.  Even the perfect specimen of the human body can’t tolerate these levels of electricity for long, and these past months had left Shaw far from perfect.  Already she could feel her chest tightening as her heart was prompted to beat too fast.  She couldn’t even feel her fingers or toes anymore.  And though her eyes were still shut, she could almost sense something large and heavy, like a shadow, inching towards her.  

_I’m sorry, Root,_ she thought as the shadow creeped over her body.   _I couldn’t protect you._

And then it stopped, and Shaw went cold.  

When she woke, Shaw’s entire body was on fire.  She was drenched in sweat, her wrists were burning, her chest ached, and her limbs felt intangible and unreal.  When she opened her eyes, the room swirled and spun around her, but she grit her teeth and forced herself not to be sick and after a few moments her vision steadied.  Martine was standing in front of her, arms crossed, looking like a kid whose favorite candy had been snatched away from them at the last minute.  

Shaw blinked at her a few times, still waiting for her vision to fully adjust to being conscious once more and trying to figure out why she was still alive at all.  She lifted her head a little bit and winced at how her neck hurt.  Well, everything hurt.  

Martine’s scowl darkened when she saw that Shaw had regained consciousness.  “You were out for less than a minute,” She muttered.  Shaw heard the disappointment in her tone, and raised her eyebrows.  Martine was disappointed that Shaw was still alive.  So Martine _had_ been trying to kill her, but at the last second, she’d been told to stop.  When Shaw had passed out after the shocks stopped, maybe Martine had hoped she’d never wake up.

Shaw couldn’t say she was sorry to disappoint, but that wasn’t what was troubling her.  Shaw knew she wasn’t useful to Samaritan anymore.  The AI had obviously been planning to have her killed, giving Martine free reign to do what she’d wanted to do since she’d walked into that department store and started a shootout.  But now something in its plan had changed and Shaw didn’t know what or why.  And when it came to all-knowing AI’s, Shaw was getting really sick of not knowing things.  

Martine took another second to shake her head, silently lamenting Shaw’s survival, then smirked a little and pointed a remote at the large tv monitor stationed over the control panel.  She hit one of the buttons, and it flashed on.  

Shaw couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her at the sight of the camera feed on the screen.  

Root, splayed on the floor of a small room that did actually look a lot like the cell she’d been kept in when she first woke up.  There was a guy in there with her, and he was massive.  He was probably larger than some small whales, and his muscles put all but the most extreme bodybuilders to shame.  Shaw took in the easy way he moved and balled his fists and knew immediately that this was a man who could deliver a beating.  

A beating that Root was in the process of receiving, she inferred, taking in the bruise already forming on Root’s face and the blank look in her eyes that indicated a possible concussion.  Root was hunched over on the floor, suggesting some sort of damage to her ribs, and as Shaw watched, the man brought down his foot hard on her hand.  

Shaw felt something remarkably similar to the feeling of a knife stabbing her in the stomach at Root’s shocked shout of pain as at least one bone in her hand snapped.  

Shaw gave herself fifteen seconds to look at the screen.  To take in just the sight of Root, the woman who’d occupied her thoughts for so long.  Who’d started out as a fascinating puzzle and somehow morphed into someone she trusted with her life.  Who would appear out of the blue suddenly to take her away on exciting (and often violent) adventures.  Who understood who and what Shaw was and didn’t care at all.  Who (despite how vocally she may have denied it) Shaw had grown to care for, so much that Shaw had been willing to sacrifice her own life to ensure the continuation of Root’s.  

She took fifteen seconds to memorize Root’s face, her eyes, her hair, her body.  She was a mess, and Shaw was sure that that wasn’t entirely the fault of her tormentor.  She was thinner, and there were dark bags under her eyes.  Shaw felt an ache in her chest that had little to do with her recent near-death experience at the realization of how horrible these months must have been for Root.

Her fifteen seconds were up, and Shaw forced herself to calmly tear her gaze away from the screen.  She was surprised by how glad she was to see Root again, despite the unpleasant details of their situation.  But even as she looked away, Root’s face was branded in her vision.  She could see each tear track staining her face, contorted in pain.  For just a moment Shaw found herself wishing more than anything else to see Root’s smile; confident and sweet and flirtatious and somehow one of the few things that could knock Shaw off balance even for a moment.  Fury shot through Shaw then, a terrible anger at all the people in the world who’d taken away Root’s reasons to smile.

She didn’t let any of it show, though.  Shaw kept her face calm and impassive as she looked at Martine with raised eyebrows.  She didn’t say anything, but her expression clearly said, _And I’m supposed to care why?_

Martine narrowed her eyes.  “David there was a professional cage fighter,” she said, nodding back at the man who was currently kicking Root in the stomach.  

Shaw forced herself not to wince at the sound of the impact and shrugged, “So?”

“He would have been champion,” Martine continued.  “If he hadn’t been so aggressive that he killed three different people in the ring.  After that he was asked to leave the league.  He worked as a bouncer at some dull club until Samaritan found him and offered him a more... constructive outlet for his rage.”

“So you get him all riled up and let him have a temper tantrum,” Shaw said coolly.  “Great intimidation tactic.”

“Looks like a little more than ‘intimidation’ for Root,” Martine shrugged.  But Shaw saw a fire in her eyes.  Shaw’s lack of emotion was infuriating her.  That was enough to make the edges of Shaw’s mouth twitch upward but she fought it down.  Martine herself had told her that Root was now the most important prisoner they had.  They wouldn’t kill her.  But beating her over nothing made no sense, and showing Shaw footage of the beating made even less sense.  They would only show this to Shaw if they wanted her to respond somehow.  They wanted to force her to see Root in pain just to see how she reacted.  

So Shaw did what she did best, she didn’t react at all.  

She just rolled her eyes.  “Root’s taken worse,” She said idly.  “She can take it.”

_Please be able to take it,_ She silently pleaded as she very determinedly did _not_ flinch at the dull thud of David hitting Root again.  She knew Root had been in some nasty situations before and she’d always pulled through.  If her theory was right, and this spectacle was purely for her benefit, then her complete neutrality to it would hopefully prove Root’s beating a useless endeavor.  If only Root could suffer through it until they got bored of Shaw not doing anything.  

So instead of looking at the screen, or at Martine, Shaw looked down at her wrists.  They were still stinging from where she’d dug them into her restraints and as she looked at them she realized that she must have been pulling at them a lot harder than she’d realized.  She’d definitely broken skin, shown by the now drying blood that was staining the leather.  And the straps definitely looked more worn than they had when they’d first been secured around her arms.  In fact, she could actually move her wrists a little...

“What?”  Martine said suddenly.  Shaw’s head shot up to see the blonde listening intently to her earpiece.  After a moment, a wicked smile grew across her face.  “Excellent,” She purred.  

She leaned over and grabbed Shaw’s chin, forcing her gaze back to the screen.  “You’re going to want to watch this, Shaw,” she said almost giddily.

Shaw looked, her eyebrows knit together in confusion.  David the mammoth was picking Root up and setting her down in a chair that had been laying on its side in a corner of the room.  Shaw felt her jaw clench at the callous way he manouvered her, with no care for the many injuries he’d just dealt her.  Shaw saw the way Root’s breath hitched as David aggressively grabbed her arm and held it to the handle of the chair as he pulled some zip ties out of his pocket to secure her down.  When he’d made sure that both her arms and legs were immobilized, he stood up and went to the door.  

A few moments after David walked out, John Greer entered, something that looked like a kind of medical bag in his hands.  

Martine was happy and Greer was in the same room as Root.  Whatever was about to happen, Shaw knew it couldn’t be good.


	7. Chapter 7

Root felt more than heard the shout that tore from her mouth as the massive man grabbed both of her arms and ripped them upward (sending her zip tie restraints digging into her skin until they snapped), then threw her against the wall. She’d barely registered her sudden mobility before his fist connected with her again, this time in the stomach.

The pain of it sent stars to her eyes and she keeled over reflexively.  He capitalized on her position and grabbed her head, bashing it against the wall.

This man was ruthless.  He wasn’t giving her time to breathe, much less a moment to concentrate, to process what was happening or, more importantly, why it was happening.  She’d begged for Shaw’s life, and Samaritan had accepted her plea.  Why?  Why should this independent deity give in to her request?

Then her legs were kicked out from under her and Root landed hard on the floor and she decided that now was not the time to be speculating on Samaritan’s motivations.  Right now she had to concentrate on the beating she was receiving.  

He stomped on her hand, hard, and Root was pretty sure she heard something snap right before an electric jolt of pain burned through her.  

On second thought, don’t focus on the beating.  Think about anything _but_ the new pain radiating from her hand, and her head, and her stomach.  She couldn’t help but think to herself that if the Machine could hear her, She’d be offering fifteen different methods of escape by now.  But the Machine couldn’t hear her, or see her, and there were no escape routes.  Everything was quiet, so quiet in her mind.  Root knew She wasn’t going to be able to save them.

No, she shook her mind as yet another kick to her stomach knocked the breath out of her.  Don’t think about Her, don’t think about escaping.  Think about her, think about _Shaw_.

Think about the first time Root had laid eyes on Shaw, posing as her dead partner’s contact.  Root had often wondered if she’d been lost the moment she’d opened the door.  She’d read Shaw’s file, of course, she’d practically had the thing memorized by that point.  She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she was a fan.  But still, reading about Shaw and meeting her were two entirely different experiences, a fact that Root would thoroughly enjoy from that moment onward.  

Think about how Shaw had spared her life the next time they’d crossed paths.  Shaw was military trained and exceptionally violent (both traits that Root greatly admired) but she hadn’t been shooting to kill when she shot Root in the bunker that had once housed the Machine.  Instead she’d incapacitated Root and left Harold to deal with her.  She’d barely begun working with the boys but already their morals had begun to rub off on her.  And with time (and a little help from the Machine) those same morals would work their way into Root’s system as well, adjusting her own code and making her a little better.   

Think of how adamantly Shaw had vouched for her during those days she’d been locked up in the library.  Remember how, despite their strenuous relationship, Shaw had been certain that Root was trustworthy and could help them if they only let her out.  Root was certain that without Shaw’s vote of confidence, she never would have left the library, and they all would likely be dead already.  

Think about how Shaw could have left all of this behind.  She could have left the department store, the hiding, Samaritan, the mission, and run away to a life of crime and adventure with the man of her dreams.  But she hadn’t.  Shaw had said no to Tomas.  She’d stayed for the mission, for her friends, for the dog, and maybe, just maybe, for Root.  

Think about her kiss.  Not anything that happened after, just focus on the memory of Shaw so close to her, how soft her lips had felt pressing so hard, almost desperately, against Root’s own.

It had  always been so rare for Shaw to even hint at showing any kind of emotion.  Knowing this, Root had spent these last months telling herself it was a privilege and an honor that Shaw had allowed herself to be vulnerable for long enough to kiss her.  Even if the kiss had been a goodbye, and a distraction.

She felt a smile on her lips at just the thought of the memory, and wondered how crazy she must look to this man who was pummeling her mercilessly.  She thought she might laugh if it wasn’t for the blood pooling in her mouth from her slit lip. _If it protects you, Sweetie, maybe I can enjoy this sort of thing, too._

Her entire body was pulsing with pain by this point.  If she had the motivation to, she doubted she could move without twitching something that was broken or bruised.  She was in the fetal position, curled up into a ball, trying to protect as much of herself as she could, bracing herself for the next blow.  

It took her a moment to realize that that next attack might not be coming.  Slowly, she opened her eyes to see that her assailant was listening intently to an earpiece.  She realized he was receiving orders, and her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of what might be coming next.  

He stood there, listening for a few moments, nodding every now and then, before he turned back to Root.  She winced and braced herself, but he didn’t hit her again.  Instead he righted the chair he’d so forcefully ripped her from, then he lifted her bodily and set her back down in it.  

Just those few seconds of movement were enough to send spasms shooting through Root’s body as her ribs screamed in pain at her every breath, and her injured hand was jostled violently as he held her arms down while he secured her once more to the seat with more zip ties.  He pulled on her arms, checking that she was immobilized, then went to the door and left.  

Root had enough time to wonder what Samaritan was playing at now before the door opened again and a familiar wrinkled face appeared, smiling at her with a grandfatherly expression.

“Hello Miss Groves,” Greer said warmly, setting down the medical bag he’d brought in with him on the table next to the now blank computer.  

Root eyed it warily.  “Greer,” she said coolly, still breathing heavily.  She didn’t want to talk to Greer.  She only said anything at all because she felt that not responding was a guaranteed method of bringing back Mr. Angry-And-Violent.  And Greer at least was more likely to tell her (if somewhat cryptically) what Samaritan was up to.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you in here.”  Normally, she knew it was a terrible mistake to admit any form of ignorance to her enemy, but these were hardly normal circumstances.  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be herself, too, “I wouldn’t think you have much of a stomach for torture.  You’ve always struck me as a more ‘hands off’ killer.”

“Not unlike yourself, Miss Groves, yes?”  Greer countered as calmly as if they were discussing the weather.  “If our reports are correct, you were once quite the woman behind the curtain yourself.”

“Oh, I worked past that,” Root said as airily as she could, her eyes still flicking to the unopened bag on the table.  “I went to therapy, got some help.  You should try it some time.”

“Perhaps another time,” Greer said, sounding amused.  He turned to his bag, and began unpacking it, still speaking in that same calm tone.  “For the moment, however, the experience Samaritan has planned for you requires a bit of precision, and though I’m not officially a doctor, I do possess the necessary skills for this sort of procedure.”  He set down the contents of the bag for her to see.

Root felt a cold sweat break out over her body, and she started trembling again.  She wondered if this was a side effect of shock setting in after her beating, or else the beginnings of a panic attack.  Either way, her normally sharp wit was at a loss for anything clever to say at the sight of those blue and yellow syringes that she’d seen before, back when she’d had two functioning ears, in a warehouse, with Control.

Root’s heart was already beating violently, as if protesting the punishment it was about to be subjected to.  As Greer calmly tied her upper arms in preparation for the many injections that were imminent, Root wondered if he was expecting her to beg, to offer any alternative, to give him any information he wanted if he would just put those syringes away.  After all, no one could be faulted for wanting to avoid the experience of a torture that had such a high death rate, especially when their heart was already weakened from one round of that same method of torture.  

Maybe Samaritan had expected her to break down, succumb to the flashbacks that haunted her often enough in her nightmares.  Maybe it had expected her to retract her offer to take Shaw’s pain.  

Whatever the reasoning, Root was determined not to give them the satisfaction.  Root said nothing as Greer prepped the first syringe.  Instead she focused on Shaw, on the memory of Shaw kissing her, as she felt the needle slide into her arm, spreading a sedative through her veins.  


	8. Chapter 8

“No, no you can’t do that to her,” Shaw said, recognizing the colored tags on the syringes immediately.  Her medical training told her Greer had brought too many doses of amphetamines and sedatives for anything but the extremely unpleasant method of torture she knew Root was all too familiar with.  But they can’t know about the time Control put Root through this process.  There’s no way they would risk the likely result of subjecting her to it a second time.  She felt her pulse quicken with something dangerously close to fear as she watched Root’s body go limp as Greer pulled the needle from her arm.  “You don’t understand-”

But Martine was smiling and shaking her head, “Oh no, I _do_ understand.  I’ve heard Control talking about her time with Root.  Not directly, of course, but Samaritan sometimes lets me hear things that interest me,” she said with a wicked smile, her eyes never leaving Root as Greer prepped the amphetamine.  “ A shame Control made sure there were no cameras around at the time, something about wanting privacy from the Machine.  That’s something I would have paid money to see.  Oh well,” She raised her voice just a tiny bit to make sure Shaw could hear her clearly over the Root’s screams and shouts as the second injection jump-started her body.  “It’s recording _now_.  I’ll be sure to save the tape for several reruns.”

Shaw clenched her jaw as Greer waited calmly for Root’s spasms to subside before giving her another injection.  So they knew that this had been done to Root before.  But maybe they didn’t know the effects this kind of torment had on her body.  “But her heart,” She said, trying, but not completely succeeding, to keep her tone calm.  “What Control did to her weakened her system.  This,” She said, nodding to the screen and trying to ignore the way her stomach clenched painfully at Root’s renewed screams.  “This will _kill_ her before you get what you want from her.”

Martine raised her eyebrows and tore her eyes from the screen just long enough to look patronizingly at Shaw, “Who says we want anything out of her?  Maybe Samaritan is just enjoying the show as much as I am.”

Shaw felt her blood boil as Root’s screams morphed into pained whimpers as Greer injected her with another round of sedative.  Even through the calming effects of the injection, Root’s breath was ragged and shaky.  She was drenched in sweat by now, and her arms were shaking uncontrollably and Shaw knew that she couldn’t take much more of this.  But if Martine was telling the truth, they weren’t going to stop any time soon.

So it was up to Shaw to stop it.  She couldn’t just let them kill Root.  She had to do _something_.  But she was stuck, bound to this chair, forced to watch this sadistic display of Root being tortured for apparently nothing.  As quietly as she could, Shaw began tugging slightly at the leather straps around her wrists again.  She’d noticed earlier that she’d stretched them slightly while trying to resist the death Martine had so sincerely wished upon her.  Being careful to make sure Martine’s eyes were still focused on the screen, Shaw tested them more thoroughly.  She had maybe a couple centimeters of clearance on her left wrist.  Not quite enough to pull her hand through (not without breaking something in her wrist, at least) but maybe if she had a little time she could loosen it a bit more...

“Even if she does survive this,” Martine mused, her voice sickeningly sweet.  Though her eyes were still glued to the screen, her words were spoken directly into Shaw’s ear.  “Samaritan says that when it’s done with her, I can have her to myself.”  She gives a low chuckle, “Think of what I could do to her.  Honestly, Shaw, you probably _want_ your girlfriend to die now, because when I’m through with her, she’ll be _begging_ for death.”     

Shaw’s vision went red.  She made no conscious decision and was almost surprised at the sharp pain that shot through her suddenly as she ripped her hand back through the restraint.  She could locate and name the two bones she was sure she’d just broken but that didn’t stop her from quickly unbuckling the strap on her opposite hand and jumping to her feet, anger and adrenaline coursing through her.

It was impossible to define exactly _how_ satisfying it was to punch Martine across the jaw.  Shaw took two full seconds just to appreciate the look of complete shock on the other woman’s face before she punched her again and this time, Martine stayed down.  A large part of her mind was shouting at her, demanding Shaw end it now, kill Martine and never let the bitch see the light of day again.  But Root was still screaming somewhere in this building, and Shaw would not grant Martine the mercy of a quick death. Instead, she gave Martine one last kick to the stomach, and grabbed her Nano from Martine’s waistband (she could tell immediately from the weight that it was unloaded, but there was no way Shaw was going to let Martine keep her favorite handgun).

It took five kicks to break the lock on the door to the room (it would have taken two had she been anywhere close to her normal physical condition).  Sameen Shaw entered the hallway with fury in her veins and murder in her heart.  She was weaponless, physically weak after months of torture, she had no knowledge of where she was in the world, and there was only one thought on her mind.

If Root wasn’t alive by the time she got to her, Shaw was going to kill every person in this goddamn building, and then she was going after Samaritan.  


	9. Chapter 9

“I must say you are incredibly resilient, Miss Groves,” Greer commented, sounding genuinely impressed.  “The odds of you surviving more than three rounds of the treatment were exceptionally low.”

In all honesty, Root wasn’t positive she was going to beat those odds.  Her heart was beating too fast, and her chest was so tight she wondered if it might cave in.  Her arms were aching from the injections and her whole body was trembling with a kind of exhausted energy.  There was a darkness tinging the edge of her vision that scared her.  She didn’t think she’d survive another round of ‘treatment’.  She wondered briefly what they would do if she did die.  

They would go back to torturing Shaw.

Just the thought spurred Root into forcing a smile.  “Well, I did work at recovery from my last encounter with this treatment.  Reading helped” she said, trying her best to look confident despite her haggard and disheveled appearance.  “ _How To Recover From CIA Interrogation Tactics_.  Good article, you should read it sometime, though I think the author is being sued for slander at the moment.  And of course, Shaw gave me some recommendations of how to best strengthen your heart.”  She was watching him closely.  Something in his demeanor changed when she mentioned Shaw.  

“You’re an old man, Greer.  Your heart’s probably as bad as mine.  Maybe worse,” she added with an unsympathetic pout.  “Maybe _you_ should ask Shaw for some of those tips.”

There it was again.  This time Root caught it.  When she said Shaw’s name, for just a fraction of a second, Greer’s eyes flicked up to the camera mounted on the ceiling.  

And just like that, all of the puzzle pieces fell into place.

“You switched us,” Root said, seeing no advantage in hiding her revelation.  “You’re showing her footage of me.”  Greer didn’t deny it.  He simply raised his eyebrows, and that was all the confirmation Root needed.

She narrowed her eyes.  “You haven’t asked me a single question since I woke up,” She pointed out.  “I’d thought you’d be at least a little bit curious about some things.”

Root knew that, to Samaritan, she was a treasure trove of information.  She was the closest human to the Machine and Samaritan knew that.  And yet for all the torture Samaritan had ordered inflicted upon her, not one question had been posed to her.  She hadn’t been asked where the Machine was, or where the rest of the team was hiding, or how they managed to communicate undetected.

Greer shrugged calmly, “There was no need to ask questions of you.”

No, apparently there wasn’t.  Instead, she’d been shown Shaw being tortured and apparently now Shaw was facing a similar experience.  Root felt a flicker of fear and maybe something like affection at the thought of what Shaw would do faced with the sight of her in pain.  What she couldn’t understand was why Samaritan would be so invested in seeing their reactions to the other being tormented.

She remembered what Samaritan had told her right before showing her Shaw.  

Research, the AI had said.  Samaritan was researching _them_.    That’s what the beating had been for.  That’s why Samaritan had so easily accepted her request.  That’s why they weren’t asking any questions while torturing her.  

The answers Samaritan wanted wouldn’t come from Root’s words, they would come from her actions, hers and Shaw’s.  That’s all they were.  Research.  Data.  Lab Rats.  Just the thought of it made Root’s skin crawl.  

“Why is Samaritan studying us?” She demanded.  

“It’s not my place to question my orders,” Greer said calmly.  

“So you don’t know,” Root countered quickly.

“I don’t need to know,” He corrected her.  “A mindset I’m sure you’re familiar with, Miss Groves.”

Root raised her eyebrows.  Maybe once she’d shared a similar way of thinking.  But from the moment she’d lost Shaw, Root had needed nothing but to know--whether Shaw was alive or dead.  And the Machine had barely helped her.  “I’m not sure we look at our gods the same way anymore, Greer,” Root said, almost surprised to find herself speaking sincerely.  “I learned that mine is fallible, and I wonder if you know that yours is too.”

Before Greer could answer, a muffled noise interrupted them, a noise that sounded suspiciously like gunfire.  Root’s head snapped up despite the way the room spun slightly around her at the sudden movement and how her head pounded in protest.  Greer looked caught off guard as well, tense and alert.  

More guns sounded, and Root wasn’t sure but she thought they sounded a bit closer.  A few people shouted, too.  Root had no doubt who in this facility would be causing that kind of mayhem.

“Uh oh, I think Samaritan may have miscalculated,” She said sweetly, finding a genuine smile on her lips.  She didn’t know how, but she was pretty sure she knew why.  Shaw was loose, and if Root was right, everyone in this facility who worked for Samaritan was in very real danger of dying.  “Shaw’s always been a little on edge,” she said, rolling her eyes affectionately.  She turned her gaze from Greer and looked right at the camera, talking straight to Samaritan, “All you’ve done now is set her off.”

Greer clenched his jaw, obviously fighting down his annoyance (and quite possibly his fear) at this unforeseen development.  Root was almost impressed by how even his tone was when he finally collected himself enough to respond.  “Apparently so,” He said, walking to the door.  “I’ll have to deal with this before we continue,” He added, nodding back at the table where he’d left the many unused syringes.

Root wondered if it was the sincere confidence in her smile that made him pause at the door, and turn back to say, “I wonder, are you aware of the nature of the facility you destroyed during your... outburst in Hong Kong a few months ago?”

“Outburst” in Greer’s vocabulary was apparently synonymous with “using several pounds of C4 to decimate a weapons manufacturing facility when it became clear that Shaw had never been held at that location,” Root decided, trying not to look too smug at the memory.  Still, as she thought back on it, she couldn’t remember anything unusual about the place, aside from it’s association with a certain evil AI.  

Greer waited a few moments to see if she had an answer before providing one, “The weapons being built in Hong Kong were specially made to fire only when in contact with people of specific genetic codes.  The master list of who can fire these weapons can only be accessed by Samaritan.  I assume you can guess who is _not_ on that list?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, but Root couldn’t help but whisper the name as he closed the door behind him.

“Shaw,” she heard herself breathe, the continuing gunfire somewhere farther away now taking on a much darker context as she realized that it was purely the sound of people firing at Shaw.  If Greer had told her the truth, then even if Shaw incapacitated a guard and picked up their weapon, she’d be unable to fire it.  

Skilled though she may be in hand to hand combat, there was no way Shaw could fight her way through a literal army with just her fists (though Root wouldn’t be surprised to hear that she’d tried).  Root was sure she knew Shaw well enough to guess what she _wanted_ to do, but she prayed that Shaw would have the good sense to read the situation for what it was and take the only logical option available to her.

Root felt a heavy dread settle in her stomach as she realized that Shaw would have to do exactly what Root herself had done at the stock exchange.

Shaw needed to escape without her, she’d have to leave Root behind.  


	10. Chapter 10

Shaw cursed as she rounded yet another corner only to find herself staring down the barrel of three more guns.  She ducked back around the corner only barely fast enough to dodge the hail of bullets shot after her.  She stayed there, back pressed against the wall, listening.  After the gunmen had waited long enough to determine that Shaw wouldn’t be coming back around that corner again, they started creeping after her.  

Shaw took a deep breath, held her injured hand closer to her chest, and braced herself for a fight.

The moment the first gunman rounded the corner, Shaw grabbed his gun and used it to hit him across the face, jaw and stomach, knocking him out instantly.  Before he hit the floor, she’d punched the second guy in the jaw and kicked the third in the side of the chest.  They tried to fight back, but it was clear that these guys were far more comfortable using automated weapons against their enemies rather than their hands.  With a few blocks and a couple careful jabs and punches, Shaw had incapacitated the remaining two.  But she could hear heavy footsteps indicating more guards, having likely heard the gunfire, approaching.  

Shaw picked up one of the guards’ guns.  After all, he wouldn’t be using it for a while.  She pointed it around the corner just in time to see the first of an oncoming horde of uniformed guards coming at her.  She pulled the trigger, instinctually aiming for kneecaps.  

But nothing fired.  There was no kickback, no bullets shooting from the weapon.  It didn’t click like it was empty, it just refused to fire.  

Furious, Shaw threw down the gun and picked up another.  This one, too, seemed to be malfunctioning.  Or at least she thought it was malfunctioning, until she noticed the little red light on the weapon by the trigger.  For just a second she let herself look back around the corner (a lot more guys were there now, slowly walking in tactical formation towards her), and confirmed her theory.  All of the lights on their guns were green.  

Somehow, these guns were specially formatted to only fire for certain people.  And Shaw was not one of those people

Shaw really hated technology.  

Cursing again, she threw down the gun in her hands and ran.  Her nano was useless right now. The guards’ weapons were too high of caliber for her to find any ammo for it here.  She knew she was good, but even she knew she couldn’t charge head on at a squad of fully armed men with no weapon and expect to make it out alive.  

The only problem was, that particular squad was blocking the only path she knew that led to Root.  Martine had told Shaw that Root was being held in the room she’d woken up in, and Shaw had been following the route she’d been taken through when they’d moved her to a different cell.  This was the only way she could think of to get to Root, and there was a small army standing between them.

She bolted back down the hall she’d come from and took the first corner to her left.  There were no guards this way, thank goodness, and Shaw kept running, her mind racing.  She had to find Root, she needed to get to Root.  This building was huge, there had to be multiple ways to get back to her old cell.  Shaw knew that with time, she would find Root, no question.  

The only problem was, she didn’t _have_ time.  She didn’t have a weapon, she didn’t even have a plan.  And as she ducked into a stairwell, taking the stairs down two at a time, extremely aware of the sound of heavy footsteps behind her, her military training started kicking in, telling her what she didn’t want to know.  She could waste a lot of time and effort running around on the off chance that she’ll stumble across another way to get to Root (and even once she’d found Root, it was unlikely the other woman would be fit to escape any time soon), or she could leave Root, and try to find a way out of this maze.  

Shaw ground her teeth as she checked the number by the door on the next level, she was on the third floor.  Every logical thought process in her mind was telling her to take the second option.  If she focused completely on getting out, on actually escaping, she could find the Machine, she could contact Harold and John, and together they would come back for Root.  This was the best strategy; retreat and regroup.  She knew this, and she understood it, but that didn’t stop her from _hating_ the idea of leaving this building without Root.  

Two powerful instincts were warring inside her, threatening to tear her apart.  It wasn’t until she found herself bursting through the door on the ground floor that she realized she’d already made her decision.  Her training had taken over.  She was looking for the exit.  

As soon as she realized her plan had been made, Shaw devoted herself to it completely.  She didn’t think about Root, she didn’t think about Greer or too many syringes.  She focused on her mission, on escaping.  She analyzed the most likely location of the entrance in relation to the stairs, and braced herself for her escape.

She wasn’t surprised by the massive number of guards she had to dodge around in order to get to the door.  She wasn’t surprised to find even more armed guards waiting for her outside.  She wasn’t surprised by the security gate at the fence, or the barbed wire everywhere else.  

She _was_ surprised by the bullet that clipped her in the shoulder as she stopped long enough to rip through a weak link in the chain fence to slip through.  Her shoulder was on fire and her hand was aching, but she didn’t stop as she sprinted away from the large, unassuming facility housing the base of Samaritan’s operation.  

She was a few miles out from a cityscape she didn’t recognize.  She raced towards the nearest road.  The sun was blinding, and the ground was painful on her bare feet, but Shaw didn’t care.  All she was focusing on now was her mission.

_Get to a camera_ , She thought to herself.   _Get to a camera, and get the Machine’s attention._

It took her fifteen minutes to find a camera, pointed down at an intersection busy with car and foot traffic.  She stood, glaring up at it for three seconds, waiting for a response.  When none came, she snapped.  “HEY!” She shouted, waving her arms.   “Don’t tell me you can’t see me!”  She was shouting at the traffic camera.  She knew she probably looked ridiculous and probably more than a little crazy, bleeding, out of breath and dressed in the loose pajama-like clothing Decima gave their prisoners, but Shaw was far beyond caring.  “That’s right!  I’m out here but Root’s back in there and I promise I’m no happier about the situation than you are!  And since you were too useless to keep her safe, you’re going to help me get her back!”

Someone tapped her on the shoulder.  Shaw spun, furious and ready to kill at a moment’s notice.  The guy demanding her attention stepped back, looking terrified.  He handed his phone out in a placating gesture, his hands shaking. “It’s um-” he stuttered.  “I think it’s for you.”

Shaw glared at him and snatched the phone, ready for some sort of trick.  She put the phone to her ear, “Hello?”

“Miss Shaw?” Harold’s tone was nothing short of astonished.  “Miss Shaw is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Shaw said quickly, surprised at how she was almost pleased to hear Finch’s voice.  “Finch, I need your help.  Can you track this phone?”

“Um,” Shaw could hear him typing away at his computer.  “Yes, it appears you’re somewhere in Philadelphia, is that correct?”

Shaw glanced at a passing car, the license plate was for Pennsylvania, “Looks like it.  How fast can you and John get here?”

“We can be there in less than an hour,” John’s voice came suddenly over the line.  “Are you okay, Shaw?”

Shaw ignored the question.  “Start driving, now.  Bring everything you’ve got, this is going to be big.”  She took a deep breath, biting down the dangerous _something_ bubbling up inside her.  “They’ve got Root.”

She didn’t wait to hear Finch’s reply.  She hung up the phone, but didn’t give it back.  When the phone’s owner started to protest, she glared at him and he ran off.  Shaw gave the camera one last look and started walking, holding the phone close to her mouth.  “Good start, but we still have a problem.  Samaritan’s gonna be looking for me.  So I need your help directing me through a shadow map of the city.”  She looked at the clock on the phone, “I give John 45 minutes to get here.  That should give us just enough time to get me across the city.  I’ve got to talk to a man about a bomb. ” 


	11. Chapter 11

Root estimated that it had been over an hour since Greer had stormed out of her cell.  She’d spent the better part of that hour praying that her heart would slow down, and her chest would stop aching.  Eventually, the effects of Greer’s torture had lessened, and Root had noticed how loose the zip ties around her wrists had become.  She slipped her hands out of them easily, wondering if they’d always been this loose or if she’d stretched them that far during the “treatment.”  

She rubbed her wrists idly, and stretched her arms, wincing, but didn’t stand.  She didn’t trust her legs to support her weight, and she knew the door would be locked anyways.  So Root sat, and she waited, and she listened.  

The gunfire had died down a while ago, and Root didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad one.  It could be good, meaning that Shaw had escaped and gotten far enough away that they’d given up shooting after her.  But it could be bad, meaning Shaw had _not_ escaped, Samaritan’s agents had been successful, and Shaw was either recaptured or--

Root shook her head.  It was better not to think about it.  

But as more time passed, Root began to feel the stirrings of hope building up inside her.  As much as it hurt her to admit it, to agree with Greer’s snide comment about her past, Root herself had once been a lot like these people.  She could still remember how they thought.  There was no way that Greer, or Martine for that matter, would let Root continue to think that Shaw had escaped if they’d recaptured her.  Root knew that they would crush every last bit of hope she had if they could.  But in order to do that, they’d have to _show_ her Shaw for her to believe it.  Even if they had been... completely successful in their shooting, Martine would have gotten a sick pleasure out of showing Root the corpse.

So the longer they went without bursting in and parading Shaw in front of her, the more confident Root became of Shaw’s escape.  And every time Root felt a sickening sense of fear tightening around her stomach, she reminded herself of this fact.  Fear wouldn’t help her in this situation.  All she could do now was wait.

If Shaw had made it out, then this period of nothing happening was for Samaritan to process and calculate the best course of action.  Though she knew that the AI must be trying to predict the Machine’s next move (and prepare a counter move for each potential action) and that kind of processing must take several thousand variables into account, Root also knew first hand how quickly these machines could perform those calculations.  As more and more time passed, she found herself wondering what Samaritan was waiting for.

Her hand was still throbbing, her ribs hurt when she breathed, she winced every time she moved anything at all, and she was reasonably sure that she was suffering the aftereffects of a concussion, but she was doing her best to handle it.  She’d been through much worse, or at least, she kept telling herself that she had.  Part of her knew that she should sleep.  Let her body recover from its ordeal, escape the pain that’s overtaken her entire existence.  But she also knew that it wouldn’t be possible to sleep even if she tried.  Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since Greer left, and she wondered if it was a side effect of the last injection he’d given her, or the strain of everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours.

She hoped that Shaw had contacted the Machine by now.  That she was back with the boys explaining everything that had happened.  Samaritan still had her face on file.  She hoped that Shaw would be smart enough to stay away from cameras as much as possible.  

She also hoped that the boys would be smart enough to keep Shaw from doing something stupid, like trying to break into this secure Decima facility just to try to get her back.

The thought had barely crossed Root’s mind when a loud explosion rent the air, making the building quake and sending Root’s chair flying.  Her head hit the ground hard and she was sure the impact, coupled with the loud sirens suddenly blaring throughout the facility, did little to help her injury.  She pulled herself shakily to her feet, rubbing the new knot growing on her head hesitantly.  She did a quick mental calculation of how much C4 would be necessary to generate that kind of explosion and grinned.  She could never say Shaw half-assed anything.  

Still that didn’t stop the sharp stab of worry in her stomach at the thought that Shaw _had_ returned, putting herself and possibly John and maybe even Harold in the line of fire, looking for her.  She couldn’t risk any of these people giving themselves up for her, not again.  

Slightly unsteady, she made her way to the door determined to find some way to pick the lock and let herself out.  If Shaw was heading up a rescue mission, Root would do her best to help in any way she could.  

But before she could even look at the lock, the door burst open, and Martine of all people stormed in, looking furious and dangerous.  Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Root so close to the door.  Root wondered if she should run, or even back away, but she was too weak, and Martine was too fast.  She grabbed Root’s bad arm and twisted it painfully into her back, bringing yet more tears of pain to Root’s eyes.  

“Well hello to you too,” Root purred reflexively, as the way Martine was holding her meant her back was just barely brushing Martine’s chest.  Flirtation had always been her reaction to unpleasant scenarios.  Making light of situations that others would perceive as serious always seemed to have the effect of throwing others off balance.  It was fun to see how they reacted.

Martine, unsurprisingly, didn’t take Root’s light tone well.  She twisted Root’s arm even harder and slammed her up against the wall.  “Your girlfriend works fast, I’ll give her that,” She sneered, so close to Root’s ear that she could feel her breath.  “God knows where you can even get that kind of firepower in this city.”

God and _Shaw_ , Root corrected in her head.  She had no doubt that Shaw kept a mental list of where she could procure high end weapons and equipment in every major city in the US, if not the world.  She smiled into the wall, “Yeah, she has a knack for that sort of thing.”  

“You _both_ have a knack for causing trouble, and compromising locations,” Martine corrected furiously, giving her arm another little twist.  “Greer’s sent out orders to move to a secondary location while the guards hold off your little friends.”

“So you’re here to transport me?”  Root gasped through the fire shooting up her arm.  But that wasn’t the only pain she felt.  The thought of being taken away, of being moved, when Shaw was so close, so unbearably close, had her heart dangerously close to shattering.  She wondered if she could throw off Martine, make a break for the door and run right to Shaw.  

Her arm twitched at the thought, trying to break free of Martine’s grip.  Instantly, as though she’d been waiting for such a move, Martine twisted Root’s arm again, this time so hard that Root couldn’t stop the shout of pain that escaped her.  Her chest was aching as this small activity strained her weakened heart.  Her legs were shaking even though Martine and the wall were supporting most of her weight.  Her breathing was fast and strained and Root wasn’t sure but she thought she might be crying again.

Martine laughed in her ear, “Well, that’s what Greer told me to do.  Fortunately,” Root gasped as something sharp stabbed her neck.  “I take orders from a higher power.”  Martine pushed down the plunger and Root felt something cold and foreign entering her veins.  

Martine took a step back and almost gently supported Root as she slid to the ground.  Root felt hot fury burning in her at the twisted mirroring of a similar situation.  Martine was speaking as she supported Root, “Samaritan said this particular poison works pretty fast.  But you should last long enough for Shaw to see you before you die.  And when you do see her, be sure to give her a message.”  Martine leaned in close to Root’s ear, smirking as she whispered, “Tell her I’m coming for her next.”

With that, she let Root fall the few remaining inches to the ground, and moved to stand up.  Furious, Root lunged for her throat, determined that if she was going to die, she’d choke the life out of this bitch first.  But her head was pounding and her heart was aching and all she could grab was Martine’s hand, pulling the now empty syringe from her grip before she collapsed back to the ground.  

Martine stopped at the doorway to give Root one final victorious smirk, “Thanks for the chat.”  Then she left, and Root heard the lock click behind her.  

Root lay there, immobile on the floor, feeling the effects of the poison slowly creeping up her limbs.  She was cold, so cold, and everything hurt.  She was crying because she was going to die, and Shaw was going to be too late to save her.  Her vision was starting to fade, and she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard the sound of gunfire somewhere nearby.  

With a loud crash, the door to her cell was kicked in and a compact Persian sociopath stalked into the room, gun at the ready, though her weapon fell to her side instantly at the sight of Root on the ground.  

“Root?  Hey, hey Root, can you hear me?”  Root felt hands gently tapping her face, looking for a sign of response.  She wanted to say something, to prove she was awake, but for just a moment she was dazed, too stunned by the sound of the voice, the sight of that face she’d been missing for so long.  

Shaw.  Shaw was there with her.  Root felt like her heart was going to explode and she didn’t know if it was the sight of Shaw or the strain of the poison and she wasn’t sure she cared as long as the last sight she saw in this life was that face.  That beautiful, angry, dangerous face.  

She wanted to say something, to tell her that it was okay, they would all be okay.  As long as Shaw was alive and safe, Root didn’t care what happened to her.  But she couldn’t say any of that.  Her body wasn’t listening to her anymore and all she could do was stare blankly up at Shaw, who looked almost concerned when Root didn’t respond.

Then Shaw saw the syringe in Root’s hand, and she understood.  She cursed, and grabbed the syringe from Root’s hand, putting it in her pocket before she turned on her comms.  “Reese, I’ve got her.  Get ready to cover me on our way out.  Finch, you’d better have that car ready.  We need to get her medical help, _fast_.”

As she felt herself being lifted off the ground, she heard Shaw mutter, “Dammit, Root, you’re not going to die on me now.”  She wanted to ask if it was concern she heard in those words, or maybe even fear.  

But before she could gather the strength to ask, Root’s body gave up and her vision went black. 


	12. Chapter 12

Shaw didn’t move from Root’s bedside for hours.  She waved off Finch’s claims that she herself should seek medical attention.  After all, he reasoned, she’d been through quite the ordeal herself, and it was best she be looked at as well.  Especially if Root wasn’t going to wake up for a while.  But Shaw shook her head.  She’d already wasted enough time having John clean her bullet wound and setting and splinting her broken hand.  She wasn’t going to be away from Root any more.  She may not technically be a doctor, but she knew her body well enough to know that there was nothing else seriously wrong with her aside from the fact that she hadn’t slept since sometime before Martine had collected her and brought her to that torture chamber, and the fact that her body was physically exhausted from the trauma of multiple electrocutions and the strain of escaping from then breaking back into an incredibly secure facility.  

When she’d mentioned these facts, John had quietly suggested that Shaw get some rest.  He and Harold would watch Root and let Shaw know if anything changed, but again Shaw declined.  She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she knew for sure that Root was okay.  Until she heard Root’s voice again, saw her smile.  

So she’d found in the most comfortable chair in their safe house and dragged over next to Root’s bed.  Every now and then she’d check the medical equipment hooked up to Root to make sure everything was working, make sure Root’s vitals hadn’t changed without her noticing, but mostly she just sat.  She didn’t hold Root’s hand, or talk to her, or even look at her really.  She sat, staring at her hands clenched tightly in her lap.  But once or twice a minute, her eyes would flick up to Root again, just to see that she was there, make sure it hadn’t all been a dream.  

It was midafternoon when she looked up and saw that Root was looking back at her, her brown eyes bleary and fluttering and _awake_.  

The moment their eyes locked, Root gave her a small smile and tried to sit up.  Shaw jumped to her feet and gently but firmly pushed her back down.  “Hey, hey, hey,” she said more softly than she’d spoken to any patient before.  But this wasn’t just a patient, it was _Root_.  “Slow down there, Speedy.  Take it easy.”

“Shaw,” Root breathed, almost disbelieving.  And just the sound of her name coming from Root’s lips was enough to tug unpleasantly at something in Shaw’s chest.  Root’s eyes were so wide and filled with some sort of emotion that Shaw couldn’t place.  But if she had to describe it, Shaw would say that Root was looking at her like she was afraid this was all a dream.  

“Yeah Root,” Shaw said, brushing a stray hair out of Root’s eyes, surprised to find herself smiling.  “It’s me.  I’m really here.”  

At those words, Root tried again to sit up, only to have Shaw push her back down just a little bit harder.  They stayed like that for a moment, just looking at each other, disbelief and complete relief battling for dominance inside them.  Then Shaw looked down and realized that one hand was in Root’s hair, and the other was still on Root’s chest.  She snatched them away quickly, her eyes dropping away from Root’s as she muttered, “Seriously, you need rest.  That poison Martine used is tricky.  You’re lucky you got that syringe.  Without it, we wouldn’t have been able to identify it fast enough to find an antidote.  That, coupled with your broken hand, three cracked and two fractured ribs, plus a concussion, means you are going to be in bed for at least a week.”  More, if she had her way.  Shaw was surprised to realize that a large part of her didn’t want Root ever getting out of that bed and putting herself in danger again.  She found herself fiddling with the perfectly functional heart monitor as she added, “Doctor’s orders.”  

Root let out a little chuckle then and Shaw found herself looking back at the bed despite herself.  Root was smiling that teasing smile, the smile Shaw had feared she’d never see again.  It was a little forced, and a little sad, but it was Root, it was Shaw’s Root.  “Careful, Sameen,” She said in her favorite teasing tone.  “You almost sound like you care.”

“Root,” Shaw said darkly, and that was all she needed to say for that smile to fall from Root’s lips, because she knew.  They both knew that Shaw cared.  She may have never said it, but all either of them had to do was think about the Stock Exchange to remember just how much Shaw cared.  

Root grabbed her hand then, and looked into Shaw’s eyes with a sincerity that Shaw couldn’t help but lean a little closer.  “Please don’t leave me again,” Root quietly asked, her eyes shining.  And in that moment Shaw could see all the pain and sorrow and heartbreak that must have haunted Root from the moment Shaw had locked her in that elevator.  

Shaw never wanted Root to feel like that again.  

“Please,” She said with a cocky smile, leaning a little closer, holding tight to Root’s hand.  “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”  And before she could stop herself, she pressed her lips gently against Root’s.  

It was a different kiss from their last, it was softer.  This wasn’t a goodbye, it was a promise.  No matter what, Shaw wasn’t going to let anyone keep her from Root again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!   
> I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! They all mean so much to me.   
> This was the first fic I posted on this site, but it's not going to be the last. Next week I'm going to start posting chapters for a teenage Root and Shaw fic that's way fluffier than this one, I promise. And probably half way through next month I'll begin a Hogwarts AU series that will likely go on at least until the next season airs.   
> Thanks again, and if you want to ask fic questions or just complain about the hiatus, my tumblr's cleverlyobsessedfangirl.
> 
> (Also, don't forget to read the epilogue. It's probably my favorite chapter in this fic.)


	13. Epilogue

Greer sat down at Samaritan’s main terminal, holding an ice pack to his head and wincing as his bullet wound stung.  He adjusted himself as much as he could before addressing the AI.  “Our facility in Philadelphia, as you know, has been compromised.  I take full responsibility for the failure.  It seems I put too much faith in Martine to follow orders rather than to be ruled by her hatred.”

The screen was blank for a few moments before the response was given.

** Martine was not the problem.  She was following orders. **

Greer raised his eyebrows, “You told her to poison Miss Groves.”

** Yes. **

Greer couldn’t stop the question before it came out, “Why?”

**Data was incomplete.  Observation of subjects reuniting was necessary for full evaluation. **  

“Subjects?” Greer repeated slowly, trying to fit the pieces together.  “You were studying them?”  He hadn’t believe Miss Groves when she’d made that same claim.  He’d assumed she was making wild accusations under the influence of the torture he was inflicting upon her.  He’d also assumed that the unusual tactics Samaritan had ordered regarding both Groves and Shaw had been a kind of complex interrogation tactic, not observational study.

** Yes. **

For a second time, Greer found himself questioning his god, “Why?”

** Data on human emotion is varied and inconclusive.  Though wide speculations may be made, it was necessary to observe these particular subjects in detail in order to properly predict their movements and motivations. **

And just like that, it clicked for Greer.  All his doubts disappeared and a smile grew on his face, “You’re going to use them.”

** Yes. **

“What’s the plan?”

** Calculating... **

** Calculating... **

**... **

**... **

** Outcomes of Operation 124C -- Failed **

**... **

** Outcomes of Operation 212A -- Failed **

**... **

**... **

** Outcomes of Operation 327B **

** Total Elimination of Opposition ------------------------------ 78% **

** Partial Elimination of Opposition ---------------------------- 83% **

** Destruction of the Machine ----------------------------------- 98% **

** Reconfiguration/Assimilation of Analogue Interface ----------- 65% **

** Contingent upon acquisition of Secondary Asset ---------- 76% **

** Total Failure of Civilization --------------------------------  7% **

** Contingent upon death of Secondary Asset ---------------- 21% **

** Total Operation failure --------------------------------------- 8% **

** Operation Probabilities deemed within acceptable parameters. **

** Initializing Operation 327B... **

** Activating assets in New York Region. **

** Priority: Find and retrieve Sameen Shaw and Samantha Groves. **

 


End file.
